


Persistence

by Northland



Category: Persuasion - Jane Austen
Genre: Canon Era, Epistolary, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-15 08:45:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13027449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northland/pseuds/Northland
Summary: Extracts from the correspondence of Capt. Frederick Wentworth of the Royal Navy, written during the autumn and winter of 1814-15.





	Persistence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tigrrmilk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigrrmilk/gifts).



> This request was exactly what I've always wanted to read, and it was a joy to write. I hope you find it pleasing.

Kellynch Hall  
October 15, 1814

My dear brother,

You have always complained of the dilatory nature of my correspondence while at sea, but since there is so little to do ashore, I promise I shall write more faithfully while I am in residence at Kellynch.

First, let me assure you that Sophy and the Admiral are both well, and his driving no more dangerous than is usual. He has a new gig with scarcely room for two, so at the least I am spared the prospect of careening about the countryside, taking corners on one wheel and scraping against hedgerows.

Very little has changed in the neighbourhood since your time at Monkford; you would recognize the same muddy lanes, the same predictable amusements, and the same faces. Still, I have been introduced to one or two new families and several very pretty girls, none of whom seem particularly nice in their tastes. I am confident of being married within a sixmonth at the outside, once I find a woman who is amiable enough and in possession of a spine. Sophy tells me that she has seen more than one copy of the Navy List on drawing room tables ready to be consulted; clearly, the matchmakers of the locality are busily inquiring into my prospects.

Now, I am certain that Sophy will write to you of a certain person, as our sister seems quite taken with her, so I suppose I must be beforehand and tell you that Miss Elliot—Anne Elliot, that is (how strange it feels for my pen to trace those letters again)—remains unmarried and in residence at Uppercross with her sister, Mrs Musgrove. 

She has changed, and not for the better. She looks as though every moment of the past eight years has settled heavily on her—so silent and pale that I hardly knew her. I fear that I was graceless enough to remark on it to an indiscreet person who will undoubtedly repeat it where she may overhear. I wish I had not let my bitterness show; it was ungallant and unkind. Yes, I own that I came wishing to find her miserable, but now that I have, I am able to pity her. She is weak, but she is still worth more than all the rest of the Elliots put together.

On that note, it is strange indeed to be staying in the house I once endured visiting only for her company, and to view more than the correct but cold public rooms. Sophy has placed me in a large, over-decorated bedroom which has the stamp of the elder Miss Elliot: ornate, luxurious (much too luxurious for a sailor’s comfort) and intimidatingly formal. And that is after several looking-glasses were removed from both it and the principal bedroom, else, as Sophy said, “I was always staring myself in the face.” 

Sophy has made over a smaller chamber into her private sitting room; as soon as I set foot in it I knew it must have belonged to the younger Miss Elliot, for it had her modest taste and sensibility. It remains a mystery how such a quiet and retiring person can have been reared by such a father and such sisters. One would rather expect her faults to be in the proud style of the rest of her family. I suppose Lady Russell’s influence must not have been merely pernicious.

Please convey my most cordial respects to your bride, and tell her that I have hopes of bringing another new Mrs. Wentworth to make her acquaintance tolerably soon.

Yours affectionately,

Frederick

~

Kellynch Hall  
November 17, 1814

Dear Edward,

I know I had promised to travel into Shropshire by the first week of November, but the fervent hospitality of Uppercross has induced me to put this off. Everyone is so agreeable that I am resolved to remain here and take all the charms and perfections of your wife upon credit just a little longer. 

My own search for a wife proceeds at a swift yet not indecorous pace. The two Musgrove sisters are generally held to be the leading candidates by the entire neighbourhood, myself included I suppose. Henrietta is perhaps prettier, Louisa may have the more lively manners; but they are so alike that I believe (unromantic as it may be to say so) marrying one would be much the same as marrying the other. 

But have no fear, Edward—I shall certainly not make an offer to either before I am assured I can tell them apart. Despite all the time I have spent with them in company, I do not feel that I know them well. They are doubtless both unaffected, charming, ladylike girls, but that is far from the only thing to be taken into account. I must have a life’s companion who knows her own mind, and trusts her own judgment. I cannot be lashed to one who is swayed by the prevailing currents, tossed between wind and wave and unable to hold a steady course— 

I shall break off there, for I know how you despise my nautical metaphors! 

Given the constant intercourse between all the Musgroves, I have been thrown into company with Anne Elliot many times since I wrote of her to you. She is so stiff and marble-like in her composure, that (even were her features not altered by age) I should hardly recognize the warm, affectionate girl I knew. She has spoken fewer than a dozen words altogether to me and seems scarcely to remember me. Any inescapable reference to the year 1806 makes no impression on her insensible face. It is a salutary corrective to find my youthful ardency so thoroughly blotted from her memory! My former opinion that her decline was caused by blighted love seems most unlikely now. 

Indeed, her family are so unjust to her that one does not have to look far for the source of her unhappiness. Her sisters abuse her, her father scorns her, the general company ignore her except when they need someone to play the pianoforte, or perform an unpleasant task: she is a veritable Cendrillon, lacking only some good fairy’s assistance. I was forced to rescue her from the teasing of her younger nephew during a brief morning call yesterday. He harassed her so persistently that she could scarcely move to nurse his older brother, and I must needs forcibly pluck the child off her back and bear him away—all the while her brother Musgrove sat over his newspaper, chiding the little monster ineffectually.

I would feel satisfaction at the clear proof that she has suffered for giving me up, if it were not so small and mean. I cannot forgive her, but I am not unfeeling; I do not desire to see her suffer. 

I see you raise your head from this letter and smile, Edward, but trust that I speak only in Christian kindness. Anne Elliot is not the woman for me, as time and her character have shewn, but she is too good for these circles. A lady so well-fitted for domestic life ought to preside over a home of her own rather than depend on the cold charity of her unloving family. I hope that she may encounter some retiring, quiet gentleman (one suitably prepared to be ruled by her overbearing relations) capable of perceiving more than the unprepossessing surface. If there are any meek curates among your circle of friends, be sure to send them into the neighbourhood of Kellynch.

Please give my love to Sarah, make my apologies to her for the delay, and rest assured that I shall throw myself on the bosom of your hospitality before Christmas.

Your affectionate brother,

Frederick

 

~

Anchor Inn, Lyme  
November 24, 1814

Edward,

I am a fool and have been justly served for my folly. 

Imagine my shock when I found that I had thoughtlessly committed myself so far that it was expected I would offer for Louisa Musgrove momentarily. Neither Harville nor his wife entertained a doubt of our mutual attachment—and I discovered this at the very moment the girl lay on a sickbed, her life in doubt from a serious fall.

But I will be confusing you, as well as myself. To sketch the events leading to this awful realization briefly: I had been to visit the Harvilles and Benwick, who I learned had established themselves at Lyme for the winter. Upon my return, my description of the country thereabouts fired the Musgrove girls with an irresistible desire to see the place for themselves. It seemed unobjectionable enough, the weather being fine for November, so we chose a date and made a party of six: myself, the Musgrove sisters, Charles and Mary Musgrove, and Anne Elliot.

The first evening was passed agreeably enough in walking on the Cobb, calling on the Harvilles, and dining at our inn. Next day came the catastrophic event. A walk along the upper Cobb was too windy, therefore we proceeded to the lower; but Louisa must be jumped down the steps by me, as was her impulsive habit at any stile on our country walks. She insisted upon it now, even on these hard stones. I reasoned with her, but she would not be denied, and took so much pleasure in the first time that it must be repeated. The second time she was even hastier; she jumped an instant before I could put out my hands, and fell directly to the pavement.

For a terrible moment we all believed her dead, for she lay limp and unbreathing. I, who have seen far worse onboard, was struck useless by the sudden, unexpected nature of the injury, and her sister was overcome with horror. It was mild, gentle Anne Elliot who kept her head, and directed all of us. Her exertions were great, surpassed only by her calmness.

We began conveying Louisa to our inn, but were met and redirected by Harville, for his lodgings were closer. There we awaited the surgeon and his verdict, which thanks to Providence was more favourable than I had dared hope. Louisa could not be moved, and would still need solicitous care, but that was readily supplied by Maria Harville and her nursery-maid, both experienced nurses.

Of course I suggested that Anne stay in Lyme to help, for no one else in our party was as capable of offering assistance; and of course her officious sister overturned every sensible plan and insisted that she stay instead—only to be a trial to poor Mrs Harville, no doubt. So I brought both Anne and Henrietta back to Uppercross yesterday, and returned in the same carriage yesterday evening.

This morning I spoke with Harville and learned to my astonishment the intelligence I opened with. At the very moment when I saw clear at last the difference between the steadiness of principle and the obstinacy of self-will, between heedless daring and the resolution of a collected mind! Until today, I did not understand the perfect excellence of the character with which Louisa's can so ill bear comparison, or the unrivalled hold it possessed over my own. I have seen everything to exalt in my estimation the woman I have lost; and I can only deplore the pride which kept me from trying to regain her when thrown in my way. I should have taken it as a sign from Providence, to meet Anne Elliot again! Instead I imagined myself indifferent, when I was only angry; and I was unjust to her merits, because I suffered from them.

I have avoided seeing Louisa ever since, making the excuse of fearing the consequence of disturbing her rest with an interview. All I can do now is to weaken, by any fair means, whatever feelings or speculations concerning me might exist. I shall absent myself and pray that it does not make her heart grow any fonder of me than it may already be. I must leave Lyme as quickly as possible; anticipate my arrival at your door on the heels of this letter.

I remain, your foolish brother,

Frederick

~

The Parsonage  
Wistanstow, Shropshire  
February 8, 1815

Dear Sophy,

I write to tell you a piece of news which perhaps you may already have heard from the Uppercross families—Louisa Musgrove is to marry James Benwick. I understand that while she was convalescing in Lyme they formed an attachment which has now been sealed with an engagement. I fear Harville is somewhat disappointed, or at least feels that this is a slight upon the memory of his sister; but as I told him, Benwick is too young and tender-hearted to remain solitary forever, and Louisa is an amiable girl. I sincerely wish them happy.

Edward and Sarah are well, and send their love to you and the Admiral; please convey my regards to him as well. I hope there is a corner of your lodgings where I may hang up a hammock, for I plan to come to Bath as quickly as possible. 

Your affectionate brother,

Frederick

~

Gay Street, Bath  
February 16, 1815

Dear Edward,

I am settled with Sophy and the Admiral in their lodgings, but not comfortable. I know not how I shall be able to exchange any more than the most polite nothings with the woman whose true feelings toward me I must ascertain.

And how shall I know her true feelings? The engaging mildness of her countenance and gentleness of her manners are such that she (as I know to my sorrow) treats all her acquaintance with equal complaisance. 

I encountered her at a concert last evening, quite unexpectedly. I was not complacent, not easy, not able to feign that I was; I fear I must have turned quite red and stammered in the bewildering first effects of strong surprise. Though she seemed pleased enough to see me, and shewed her pleasure by greeting me warmly, I observed her closely and saw her speak to all with the same cordiality. And then, her cousin Mr Elliot would persist in drawing her attention away at every opportunity, which she did not protest. Though her eyes were bright and her cheeks glowed, I soon saw that there was nothing worth my staying for, for it was the assiduous attentions of her cousin that had brought such animation to her features.

It is common knowledge in Bath that Mr Elliot is paying his addresses to Anne. He is established as a daily visitor to her family and the ladies of Sophy’s circle speak as though it is a matter of time only before their engagement is announced. I know not what to think. Elliot is smooth, plausible, pleasant enough I suppose—but (though I dare to say it myself) he hardly seems worthy of an Anne Elliot! Yet he has all the advantage: the approval of all her friends, a familiar name, the power to establish her in her former home as Lady Kellynch. I fear the merits of a plain sea captain with no ancient name can hardly compare. 

I am not prepared to strike my colours yet, but I am not hopeful of success.

Your doubtful brother,

Frederick

~

Gay Street, Bath  
February 26, 1815

Dearest Edward and Sarah,

Wish me happy—that is the burden and refrain of this entire letter. Though indeed there is no need to wish it, I should think, for I know my future will be happy now that Anne has agreed to be my wife.

Edward, you will laugh to hear that it was my pen which drew her attention at last and shewed her what I felt, when I had no way of speaking to her.

A party of us were gathered in the drawing room of the Musgroves’ hotel, and Mrs. Musgrove and Sophy were canvassing all the minute details of Benwick’s engagement between them. Imagine my horror at their agreement on the subject that long engagements where there is an uncertainty ought at all costs to be deprecated and avoided; I could not prevent myself from glancing at Anne with one quick, conscious look. 

Then Harville—excellent man!—drew her into conversation about Benwick and his former attachment to Fanny Harville. She spoke most feelingly of the varying nature of men and women’s sentiments, claiming that women loved longest after hope was extinguished. 

As you may imagine, I was so pre-occupied by leaning closer and striving to catch the sounds of their conversation that my pen fell to the floor. That small interruption reminded me that I had the power to express myself in my hand, most literally, and I set to writing in haste the most vital document of my life.

I was able to assure her that I have loved none but her, and begged her to tell me that it was not too late. Picture my anxiety upon leaving, without knowing my fate! I did not know when or how I might see her again, only that it must be as soon as possible for the sake of my sanity. When as I wandered aimless up the thoroughfare, I encountered her on her brother’s arm minutes later, it seemed hardly possible that he would ask me to accompany her so that he could perform an errand elsewhere, but so he did. 

One look from Anne’s expressive eyes gave me the answer to my question. And there in the middle of the thoroughfare I might have dared to take liberties that would sink your opinion of me below all recovery, had it not been for the passersby who glared at us for blocking the way.

Though I did not wish to leave Anne at her door, a separation of a few hours was enough to bring me to a state of somewhat greater calm, and to believe as well as feel my happiness. I sat down to write this in an effort to subdue my joy to my pen, but this letter is as scattered and quicksilver as my thoughts, which will not be governed, but leap from memory to wish to plans and hopes for the future.

Let me confess that you were right, Edward, when I came ashore in 1808 and you told me that I ought to try again. I have only myself to blame for the greater portion of my unhappiness, for Anne tells me that if I had written to her then, posted to my first captaincy with a few thousand pounds, she would have welcomed a renewal of the engagement—but I was too damnably proud to ask and spare myself six years of separation and suffering. Ah, well, I must learn to endure being more fortunate than I deserve in having secured the love and confidence of such a woman again. Anne is tenderness itself, and I wish to ensure that she has the full worth of it in my affection. The satisfaction I feel is only equalled by its lack of foundation; I have done nothing to merit this happiness, but I shall endeavour to support myself under it nonetheless. 

With this better understanding of our hearts I have no fear of her constancy, yet I do not intend to brook any delay. Now that we have all the advantages of maturity of mind, consciousness of right, and one independent fortune between us, what should we wait for? Her family can do nothing worse than look cold and unconcerned, which is their usual habit. I shall look to you and Sarah, the Admiral and Sophy, to supply all the warmth and graciousness lacking in her previous circle.

Satisfying as it would be for you to perform the ceremony, dear brother, I am unwilling to wait even that long. We shall be wed here in Bath as soon as the banns may be read, and then I shall carry my bride off to meet you post-haste. Look for us in Shropshire before the end of March.

Your most fortunate brother,

Frederick

**Author's Note:**

> Many lines and expressions herein were borrowed from Jane Austen. Any especially felicitous phrase is most likely the offspring of her pen, not mine.
> 
> Both Julianne's careful beta reading and this [detailed timeline/calendar of the novel](http://www.jimandellen.org/austen/persuasion.calendar.html) were incredibly helpful. If any errors remain, they are due to me.


End file.
